One Morning
by Achilles-Heel
Summary: Early one morning...(Hotohori+Miaka)


Disclaimer: I do not own Fushigi Yuugi, nor any character therein. This is a Hotohori + Miaka twist.  
  
  
  
  
A bright morning sun peeked through swirls of grey clouds, spilling through glass paned windows and onto a man's face. His breathing was slow and steady, as if he were in the deepest of sleeps. Suddenly, the man bolted up from a tangle of creamy bed sheets, his body jerked wide awake. He was still, pale eyes fixed on the growing shadows which danced along the far wall of the bedroom. Extending a large palm forward, the man sought to touch the moving patterns of light, as if they had solid shape and texture. The room was as quiet as he, but that was as far as the simularites ran. He was unlike the shadows, the sunlight and even the soft sheets which he lay in. Like a picture with no image, he did not fit. His hand moved to his chest, as if he remembered the answers lay there. But only his bare skin greeted his cold fingers, and he jerked his hand back, as if burnt. His eyes roamed the room, searching for some element that was familiar other than the quickened pounding of his heart.   
All was bare, save the bed he sat on and long panes of glass that stretched along the wall farthest from him. The branches of an oak tapped lightly on the glass, exsentuating a steady ticking which seemed to be the very room itself. Feeling strands of hair tickle his forehead and cheeks, he ran a hand through the tangled mess with an instinctive push that did not seem his own. His shoulders were cool, and he realized vaguely that his long hair was missing. Pushing his legs over the edge of the bed and onto the floor, soft fur tickled his toes. Bending his head down, he saw to his astonishment that it wasn't fur. Even more, when he stood he noticed a door- with a golden handle. All these discoveries were over shadowed by the need to find his clothes, his hair, his picture...  
Turning the knob slowly, his muscles corded as he drew the door open, unarmed, yet senses alert. Another room like the one he had just seen greeted him, though this one did not have a bed. A low table instead was placed in the center. More glass ran along one half of the room, and ended where a large oak desk sat. His feet moved along the carpet and within a few steps he was at the desk. What had drawn him so suddenly was the recognition of square frames, which encased photos.   
Maybe one would be his. The desks' surface was littered with papers, a small red ball placed carefully beside one of the frames. Reaching out, his hand closed about the ball, drawing it from atop the stash of papers. Pale eyes lit with determination and curiosity, and he studied the picture with unbreakable concentration.  
The ball bounced off the mahogany desk as it dropped from his hand. He stared unbelievingly at the picture. Reaching out, he had to touch it. But reason took hold of his body, which moved with elation. He stopped himself, his fingertips inches from the clear glass. He held himself still, as though his touch would make the vision the photo held disappear. His fingers hovered above the face of a woman, bright and filled with excitement as she smiled at a young child and man.   
The man was holding the little girl to his chest, a red ball encased within their clasped hands. The faces were as clear as if they had been real, and he could nearly hear the laughter that chimed from the little girls' open smile. He couldn't tear his eyes away, such a fierce longing rushing through his veins that he dropped his hand and had to lean on the desk for reassurance rather than support- was this a dream?  
He had to find out. Reaching out with both hands, he gently picked up the frame as carefully as he would a new born babe. His eyes closed softly, as he felt the smooth contours of the glass beneath his touch. Making sure the image was still fresh within his memory, he carefully opened his eyes. The woman still smiled with a light that drove him to a hunger that ached. The child still laughed, and the man still held her close, as if holding a rare flower that was too delicate for this world. His thumb traced their faces with slow circles, wonder and awe in his eyes, and a smile that lit his entire face took his mouth- a smile that was the mirror image of the man in the photo. It was him.  
He walked down the narrow hall with numb steps. The red ball held gently within his hand, his eyes rested on a door that was open a crack. Early morning sunlight now spilled fully through the crack and onto the floor. Soft chimes played a melody that floated out from behind the door, inviting him closer. Reaching the door, a small sign decorated with butterflies hung in the center. . He read softly, for the name was delicate.   
Pushing the handle with barely restrained emotion, one word formed on his lips.   
  
He didn't know if he had whispered or shouted her name. His heart was beating so heavily within his chest he might have not said a word and she would have known he was there. His hand tightened reflexively on the handle, as his Miko lifted her deep gaze to his own. He still fought for steady ground when she was near, as though their time spent apart was only a moment without hearing her voice. She sat with her legs curled beneath her, a soft teddy bear cradled within her arms. Her head tilted to the side, and the morning light caught a trail of tears that still shone wet on her cheeks. He was whispering a thousand words to her that never seemed to fall from his lips, the vision of her soft face enveloping his senses. Her eyes held his with such sadness he was rendered speechless. Her hand wiped her cheeks, but as she smiled for him more fell unnoticed. Her mouth parted, and he watched, entranced, as she spoke softly.   
Gomen ne, Shuku-ko...did I wake you up? As the words fell from her lips, her eyes changed, and recognition flowed from her like a stream. He had to touch her. Crossing the distance that seemed to separate her warm body from his by miles, he knelt down before her, reaching out to touch her soft cheek. His gaze fell to her arms that were curled about the bear, a light blanket covering her nakedness from him. He was brought back to her sea-green eyes as she guided his face up to meet hers with slender fingers. Her light touch felt like fire on his skin.   
She whispered, her eyes never wavering from his. The melody slowed, bringing the twirling dancing girl that reached her arms upwards to a halt as the music box stopped.   
  
  
**The end**...or is it?   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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